LINErider
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: There is a time for speaking and a time for listening. You just have to know when to do those things. Post-StrikerS. Vivio-centric.


**Disclaimer:** All characters and locations belong to their respective owners.

_A/N: I apologize for the abrupt ending, but my muse happened to hit a roadblock halfway through it. Ugh._

_Originally, this was going to be longer with a couple scenes; one, of Vivio and Vita on a mission to fight off a mobile suit Lost Logia (!) attained by mob families fighting the Clanagan government, and the other, of Vivio having a White Devil moment. But, uh, I wasn't quite sure HOW to make it work, so this is the end product._

_However, I hope it is worth your time. It's . . . not the best work I've done, but it has its few shining moments (cue in Badass!Vita). It's a good yarn, methinks._

* * *

**LINErider**

* * *

It should be noted that at the ripe age of fifteen, Vivio Harlaown Takamachi learned an important lesson.

Sub-Commander Vita of the Wolkenritter once told her that _There is a time for speaking and a time for listening. You just have to know when to do those things._ Regardless of its interpretation, it was said in the tone of casual seriousness that the eternal Knight was oft famed and feared for.

And it was because of that particular tone Vivio understood there was a more profound message behind the universal adage.

But it wasn't until much later, amidst a journey through fire, she would realize the full effect of those words.

* * *

What Central Command knows about Vivio Harlaown Takamachi is that she is an excellent mage, an all-around fighter. She has the same lightning speed as Enforcer Fate Testarossa Harlaown, the same monstrous power that is rivaled to that of Nanoha Takamachi the infamous White Devil. Her mind is sharp and precise, honed to a fine edge from many years in both the Saint Church academy and Time-Space Administration Bureau. Through many gauntlets trying her heart and testing the very roots of her moral views, a chitinous shell is constructed, a barrier protecting a gentle heart from the ravages of death and evil.

But before she is a person with hopes and dreams, she is a soldier with orders and agendas -- a priority to fulfill her mission at any cost. Sub-Commander Vita made it such to ingrain that nugget of wisdom first and foremost when Vivio had started training for her magus certificate. The little Knight declared it her mission to remind the younger girl that emotions were a dangerous weapon; it would jeopardize the mission, even put lives at stake, if one could not gain control of their inner turmoil.

"It happened to Nanoha twice," says Vita starkly; she polishes Graf Eisen's head, an open container of wax lying next to her. "Fifteen years ago, while on a mission to salvage some refugees fleeing from a global civil war. Bunch-a barbarians damn outnumbered your mom and her entourage, or so I heard from the after report. No one got off that rock alive . . . 'cept for Nanoha. Took her a long time to accept what passed and move on. The second was when Fate was taken prisoner during the Jirai Conspiracy -- same time, so y'know. Your ma was so pissed when she learned o' her status. Thought she was gonna kill Fleet Admiral Harlaown when he refused to unseal her powers. But that's the White Devil for ya: goddamn stubborn and too fierce to be caged. Should count ourselves lucky she's on our side, eh? Wouldn't want to meet her in an open sky. Same goes to you, in fact."

"What do you mean?" she asks her superior, curiously. "I . . . I never lost control of myself." At this she bows her head, eyes flickering with pain, briefly recalling the acrid taste of memories best forgotten. "Not since _that day_. Not since . . . the JS Incident."

Vita nods sagely, ingesting those words. "True, but with the proper training you'll surpass her. Unlike Nanoha, your emotions will be in check. You think with your head, not your fists." Here the redhead ceases her ministrations and stares at the budding teenager with hard blue orbs, an ocean of deadly calm. "Not many people can do that, but you . . . you I will teach. It's a long road, kid. Before you rise you have to suffer. Know that if you choose to tread this path, you'll be going to Hell and back. I won't play around."

_Are you willing to partake in this challenge?_ is the unspoken question.

And Vivio, who has never feared the dread and anguish of consequences that come with being a mage until now, gives Vita-sensei her answer. It doesn't require much thinking, per se, to realize she may very well turn to be a much worse monster than her mother's (personified, glorified) wrath if she does not move to what is held out for her to see.

"I'll walk wherever the road may lead me."

She of the Iron Hammer nods. "Those are some wise words. Ya really wanna do this?"

"Yes, Sensei. I . . . I want to maintain my inner beast."

"You sure? I'll hold you to your word if you decide to walk out later on."

"I'm very sure, Sensei," Vivio tells the crimson Knight; she leans forward, heterochromic eyes meeting azure. "I want to learn as much as I can, so that someday I'll pass it on to Nanoha-mama. With this knowledge I can tame the devil within, and from it I can prevent it from happening to me."

"Then it's a deal," says the other girl. Rising from her perch, she adds, "We begin your training tomorrow morning, oh-five-hundred sharp. That's an order, soldier!"

Later that night Vivio lies in bed pondering the significance of the term 'soldier.' It is dry, heavy, and oddly wholesome, but as tired as she is, she doesn't mind in the least bit.

* * *

Two years fly in a blur. After lessons with Nanoha-mama and Fate-mama, she goes straight to Vita-sensei. Under her tutelage she is taught the arts of patience, accuracy, stealth, modesty, and insight.

Over time it became routine, a systematic clockwork molded into muscle memory. Meditating beneath the giant oak tree outside Command's west wing. Hitting targets with mana-enhanced weapons hidden in the shade of the woods. Waiting to be called upon in a conference meeting. Sneaking up behind Sensei without her noticing. Enduring a stream of curses and insults while trying to keep pace with Sensei during flight practice. In between graduation, missions, and mountains of paperwork they push to the brink of their limits.

It is a brutal regime -- physically, mentally, and spiritually, and it drains Vivio to the point of unconsciousness, near comatose states, and a body preferring to lie down and crumble than to stand and conquer.

But all is not bleak and sweat-stained; once in a while, her mothers will come to observe her training with varying degrees of emotion (specifically in regards to Fate, who has had her share of panic attacks and episodes of uncharacteristic rage aimed at student and teacher respectively). Nanoha, on the other hand, watches the events unfold, hawkish eyes following her daughter's every movement, every twitch of muscle, every spike in mana signature, while the mind calculates the possibilities of what can and what cannot happen, what will and will not happen, pinpointing flaws visible and barely perceptible.

Sometimes Vita-sensei will volunteer (here Vivio likes to replace the word with 'volun-told') for the two legendary mages to test the young'in's capabilities. Nanoha is usually her opponent, as she has been for half the decade (and half the sessions; Fate could never give her all when presented by Graf Eisen's master to 'paint the walls black, brown, and red with Vivio's blood and _shavit_.' It was because of this that Vita argued with the woman, insisting that if she did not know what pain _really_ felt like she would never grasp the magnitude of what she would be up against in future missions). They are fast-paced. Tense. Breath-taking. Heart-pounding. They are the most difficult battles Vivio has ever faced. And, true to Vita-sensei's word, she counts herself lucky her mother is pledged to the Bureau; if it had been real, there would be no doubt she would have been dead a long time ago.

It is not as bad when Sensei and Fate-mama fight. The simulated cityscape is occupied with vast stretches of conglomerate buildings and spacious alleyways to take cover and hide. Vivio takes advantage of the environment, either stemming the barrage of energy shots by utilizing the structure's height or sticking to the shadows to suppress her mana signature from prying eyes, often fitting into tight niches to avoid a Wide-Area Search protocol. In some cases, warehouses scattered across the field are regarded as a safe zone for both student and mentor. Weapons and health kits are stored there, and it is there Vivio goes to recuperate and plan her strategy. Time, however, is a crucial factor when inhabiting the warehouses; there is a total of eleven minutes. Compounded with the likelihood that the targets may have secured the perimeter, there is little else for her to decide but to head out and embrace the volley of pain that immediately follows.

By the end of the session, Vivio cannot pick herself off the ground, much less stand and remain steady. At the very least, she thinks, she is still alive. The thought of exchanging blows with the Aces of TSAB and the Wolkenritter would make quite the part in a bildungsroman, and it brings forth the smile and laughter the young'in has stifled for however long the tests take.

However, she wonders if her training is inflicting upon her mothers an internal struggle. She has noticed the subtle shift in demeanor, but never before has it resonated so strongly. The frail, porcelain glaze in Fate's rich burgundy orbs, the worried frown that mars Nanoha's delicate features . . . .

Could this be a mistake?

Amid her parents' comforting caresses, the cool sensation of their hands wiping away the blood and dirt from her bruised and bandaged face, Vivio wearily concludes, "It must be."

It is the one time she believes she should forsake the path of the soldier. The one time she admits she is hurting them, the people who liberated her from the dark and cared for with all the love expressed in their eyes and smiles and laughter and cool hands and soft-spoken words.

Perhaps it is for the best.

No -- it _is_ for the best.

Later that evening, when she is released from the infirmary, Vivio goes to the woods that have become her second home, her base of operations. There she finds Vita on a hill overlooking a lake. She sits on a log, Graf Eisen situated on her lap and the container of wax within hand's reach, her face betraying the stoic, sagely Knight from ages past; an old patriot contemplating the future of her motherland, the flitting memories of bygone halcyon days. A wizened sentinel who has seen love lost, love gained, and civilizations crumble.

For a moment, Vivio fears her, admires her, confuses her. No person can look so young and not feel so old. It is impossible. It is wrong. It is--

It is only a moment, and then she approaches the petite mage.

Vita does not acknowledge her when the girl sits down, but neither does she interrupt her when she speaks of her personal plight.

When she finishes, the sun has already dipped behind the tree line. The first pinprick lights in the sky begin to appear.

"What do you think I should do?" Vivio asks the Belkan warrior. She waits silently as the girl closes the wax container and stuffs the rag cloth in her pants pocket. Then turning to her ward, Vita says: "Do you want my opinion?" A nod. "I think you should do whatever you want to do, regardless of what people think. Nanoha and Fate . . . well, they have their reasons to worry about you, but that's a different story for a different time. Y'see, the point I'm getting at is that my training goes against their code of conduct. Their regimen is to teach the individual to not use his or her strength to exceed beyond their limits, to utilize their gift of mana at the peak of their ability. Mine, however, is the opposite. I _have_ to push you. I _have_ to destroy you. If I can't get you to see past the difference of external strength and internal strength, then I'm doin' somethin' wrong. If I can't get you to understand what dangers lay outside these woods, these city walls and defense parameters, then I'm not doing my job. And if I can't get all o' that in your head . . . then I fail and you get screwed.

"But it's entirely up to you, kid," sighs Vita-sensei. "On what ya wanna do. You can either give up, walk away and pretend this never happened, that everything was for naught; _or_ you can stick around a while longer, see how it goes, and make your decision from there. This moment hinges on whatever you say -- can make or break your future. And yet . . . who am I to judge? The only other god you can turn to is yourself. I'm but a mere observer in this woven yarn, this transition to the next stage of life and all that philosophical jazz."

To make or break the future. To alter the paths paved before time, before creation, before the haze fades to reveal the first clear glimpse of the world fore and yonder.

Intelligent as Vivio Harlaown Takamachi is, she has yet to realize the magnitude of the cosmic trinity that is Reason, Choice, and Fate. She has yet to fully grasp the metaphysical rift in reality, the subtle reconstruction of then and here and now. What she does grasp is that no matter what she chooses -- to forfeit or continue training -- her mothers will still worry for her. Whether she likes it or not and whether she moves to follow another unmarked trail or remain so on the road yet to be trodden, their concerns, be it nestled at the recesses of their psyche or brimming just slight to the surface, will always be verified.

She doesn't want to hurt them. She must not. If anything were to occur to her, they will be most devastated, and it will be her who will bear the guilt on rounded shoulders that still need to fill in, muscles that need to grow and make robust.

But they will understand. They know so. And so does Vita.

She doesn't need to be told twice.

* * *

And before they know it, their training comes and goes, wraiths standing at one's periphery; turning to assess the convolution of space, but ultimately confronting the air of infinite dimension – no person or object to confirm there was ever such a space-consuming entity.

It is here a transformation unfolds; here that the ascension to womanhood progresses as if it were a part of photosynthesis, a rose bud laden with dew drops, quivering achingly to blossom and sustain the weight of opportunity, responsibility – the burden of what is to come -- and be reborn. It is here Vivio Harlaown Takamachi grows, in body and heart and spirit.

It is here, in this moment of space and time, she steps from the blazing fires of blood-spilling, bone-breaking, mind-numbing tribulation and is forged a magus of Mid-Childa. A soldier with orders and agendas – a priority to fulfill her mission at any cost, come death or unforgiving agony – but at the same time a person of virtue, of hopes and dreams and ambition.

A soldier cannot afford to be burdened by tides of overwhelming emotion, be it horror or loss or all-encompassing anger. It would be . . . most unfortunate to fall by one's own misconstrued judgments. This she knows, as do Vita and Fate and, most important of all, Nanoha, because nothing is more scandalously opposing, more poisonous, than oneself.

Although she can't guarantee she'll always keep control, Vivio takes it upon herself to ensure that such violent tendencies come as a last resort, a trump card to use at the direst of emergencies. Even so, that may not always be the best option. What may and what will happen are two separate branches in an infinite web of alternatives, for good or for bad, for transcendence or devolution.

It's a fine line to ride, she contemplates absently as she observes Mid-Childa country from Central Command's rooftop; to follow the unwritten, the unspoken, and preserve the duality of nature: To fight and protect, whenever and wherever, it is always there.

And perhaps, appears the added train of thought, that is all the more reason to reason and understand the world around us.


End file.
